


Reminiscence and Reality

by florrieflorrie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Suppressed Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florrieflorrie/pseuds/florrieflorrie
Summary: The kids and sprites have begun their yard-long trip. They'd be ready for the three year calm, but certain memories won't loose their hold.





	1. Reminiscence and Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the continuation of [Her Memory of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850584); this fic begins not long (a few days or so) after that one.

DAVESPRITE: hey so  
DAVESPRITE: i know its probably kinda shitty of me to ask this about someone whos basically dead  
DAVESPRITE: and i guess it isnt rly any of my business  
DAVESPRITE: but  
DAVESPRITE: fuck this is me bein a big jerk isnt it  
JADE: huh...?  
JADE: whats on your mind davesprite?  
DAVESPRITE: well  
DAVESPRITE: you said you didnt rly like thinking about jadesprite much  
JADE: yeah...  
DAVESPRITE: and i guess ive just been dying to know what you meant by that  
DAVESPRITE: why you dont i mean  
JADE: umm  
JADE: well i  
JADE: that IS kind of not awesome to ask about you know!  
DAVESPRITE: uh  
DAVESPRITE: yeah sorry  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
JADE: you met her obviously  
JADE: i cant remember what you two talked about well but if you didnt get the picture  
JADE: she was  
JADE: kinda really selfish!!  
DAVESPRITE: yeah i guess  
DAVESPRITE: agh sorry  
JADE: yeah whatever  
JADE: i dont rly care  
JADE: ...  
DAVESPRITE: uh  
DAVESPRITE: idk i think she might have been sorta justified tho  
JADE: seriously??  
DAVESPRITE: yeah  
DAVESPRITE: shed been in dream bubbles for who knows how long and probably met a million crazy alt versions of us and the trolls  
DAVESPRITE: that mustve become her entire life  
DAVESPRITE: post-death  
DAVESPRITE: so when she got yanked back into our world i mean  
DAVESPRITE: not to mention you kinda literally merged her with a dog  
DAVESPRITE: itd be a lot to adjust to right on the spot is what im saying  
JADE: ughh  
JADE: i know  
JADE: but the fact that she just wouldnt even try frustrates me a lot!!  
JADE: she just got a really long rest and break from all the craziness we were still dealing with  
JADE: and when she came back  
JADE: all she could do was moan and complain and not even consider, you know, HELPING OUT  
JADE: she wouldnt stop whining about going back to the dream bubbles!  
JADE: i mean even when i suggested she put herself to use risking getting killed she just wouldnt hear me!!  
DAVESPRITE: i mean  
DAVESPRITE: ok but telling someone to go on a suicide mission isnt exactly gonna raise their spirits  
JADE: well!!  
JADE: look it was a FINE option  
JADE: if shed just THOUGHT about it for a second  
JADE: but she didnt  
JADE: she just flew off to the battlefield and met you  
JADE: and i god-tiered pretty much right away so she didnt even have to wait long before she got to go back to dream bubbles  
JADE: or just cease existing or whatever  
JADE: she got away from it all free of effort and didnt end up learning anything!  
DAVESPRITE: i guess  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
DAVESPRITE: buuuuut if she had gone with your plan and died you would probably be dead too  
DAVESPRITE: you might not have been able to god-tier  
DAVESPRITE: or worse  
DAVESPRITE: you might not have dog-tiered  
DAVESPRITE: i cant rly imagine the old normal you anymore tbh  
JADE: well fuck???  
JADE: davesprite i really dont care about your alpha timeline shit  
DAVESPRITE: yeah its ok i dont either  
JADE: and i do NOT want to talk about how the fact that im even alive not to mention everything thats changed about me depends on her having existed  
JADE: or that every single part of jadesprite is also part of me  
JADE: i just  
JADE: would really rather  
JADE: that we DONT fucking talk about her?????  
DAVESPRITE: i  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
DAVESPRITE: yeah uh  
DAVESPRITE: sure  
DAVESPRITE: you got it  
JADE: uh huh thank you  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
DAVESPRITE: so  
DAVESPRITE: i take it  
DAVESPRITE: if it didnt get in the way of everything  
DAVESPRITE: youd rather she didnt exist  
JADE: DAMN IT???  
JADE: stop  
JADE: shuuuut  
JADE: up  
JADE: guess what?  
JADE: youre right!  
JADE: good for her that SHE gets to go off and frolick with all her friends and ghost bec and grandpa and alts of everyone else  
JADE: maybe shes enjoying a picnic with your doomed jade right now huh????  
JADE: good for her that SHE doesnt have to care about any fucking thing!!  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
JADE: davesprite you have got it down exactly right  
JADE: as you have evidently figured out  
JADE: i kinda fucking hate her!!!  
DAVESPRITE: ok thats  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
DAVESPRITE: fair i guess  
DAVESPRITE: uh  
DAVESPRITE: im  
DAVESPRITE: just gonna get some space if thats ok  
JADE: yeah good RID--rrrrghh  
JADE: ugh  
DAVESPRITE: mhm  
DAVESPRITE: k im out  
DAVESPRITE: sorry for all this  
DAVESPRITE: ...  
DAVESPRITE: seeya  
JADE: ...  
JADE: BYE  
JADE: ...  
JADE: rrrfngh-  
JADE: ...  
JADE: DAMN IT!


	2. Davesprite: Abscond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The young chapter would take to the sky and promptly cut off in traditional cliffhanger form. This would be much more shocking and maybe a little bit more sad if we didn't already know it was going to happen.

Your name is Dave Strider. You are, as those perhaps sensibly concerned with alpha timeline shit would say, doomed. Not much more than a week ago, you left the timeline you grew up in, searching for a chance to prevent the events that got two of your friends killed and your timeline firmly labeled as doomed, the wrong way for things to go.

Of course, once you arrived, you executed your plan without a hitch. With considerable and dangerously last-minute prodding, you convinced John that attempting to face a tier seven boss entity was actually a really fucking bad idea. You prototyped yourself so that the other Dave wouldn’t turn the puppet of your literal nightmares into his aethereal ghost guide, which, as you discovered first-hand, was also not the smartest decision. Naturally, there was some confusion over which Dave was the real Dave, but being from an alternate timeline got that out of the way quickly enough. After all, you were, and are, doomed.

Did you, perhaps, give a shit about being not even a second-tier player but rather a fake one, a doomed one, and now, no more than a game construct? No, of course not. It was necessary, and there was never anything you could do to change it. Perhaps it would have been nice if these alternate versions of all your friends were a little less dismissive of your realness, but you knew what you were getting into. You’re not from their world. There’s no reason for you to hold more significance than a minor game quirk, saving everyone from a timeline they only second-handedly knew would have gone badly. You saved them from a lot of pain, redundant for them to go through all over again. Tacked on with the other assistance you provided through the day, wouldn’t you, Dave Strider, agree that was more than enough? Yes, of course. In just the same way, of course you don’t give a shit. So said, after all, Dave Strider.

At this present moment, you have gracefully absconded from a calm, one-on-one discussion through which you brought up a dead friend nobody asked to hear about, sent frustration all through the air, and lost what might’ve been the last of your notion of being real. All in all, you figure you’ll avoid making a repeat of this. The problem, you understand, is that you came far too close to giving a shit.

You shake yourself. You’re leaning against the wall, just outside the doorframe. Recomposing yourself, you’d say, but perhaps you’re just pretending you aren’t actually here. You literally aren’t from their world; why not drop the act? You imagine someone approaching. You’re a sprite, right? You sort of just will yourself to be invisible with your powers. You are now a ghost. Nobody will see you, you’ll stay out of everyone’s way. You can stop pretending to be real. You are literally, physically not there.

The someone floats on up to you and affectionately rubs their forehead against your face.

JASPERSPRITE: Meow meow!  
JASPERSPRITE: Whats up dave?

Oh. Unfortunately, you weren’t imagining them.

JASPERSPRITE: Helloo? :3  
DAVESPRITE: hi jaspers  
DAVESPRITE: not much  
DAVESPRITE: sup with you  
JASPERSPRITE: Oh i just decided to go looking for you!  
JASPERSPRITE: My magic cat instincts told me you might like some company.  
JASPERSPRITE: And i found you! :3  
DAVESPRITE: yep thats exactly what you did  
DAVESPRITE: so  
DAVESPRITE: i guess i would thanks  
JASPERSPRITE: Purr purr.

Jaspersprite floats beside you and presses against your side, just lightly enough to be comfortable without pushing you aside. You pat his back. Even if he can talk now, he’s definitely still a cat.

From behind the empty doorway, you hear Jade lift herself from the couch and storm off somewhere else. No, wait, you’re imagining that—she’s just walking away, though via another of the living room’s exits, clearly to avoid passing by you.

You know you were kind of totally a jerk back there, and you want to make things better, but you have no idea how to approach doing that. You could tell her you’re sorry for bringing up a rough topic for her, but that hardly seems adequate, considering you were well aware beforehand she doesn’t like talking about her dream self sprite. Even if you do decide to apologize, now probably isn’t the time. So you just get to wait for her air to settle as you stay frustrated at yourself, you guess.

JASPERSPRITE: Dave!  
JASPERSPRITE: Lets go look for somewhere more comfy than this silly wall i cant imagine youre having a great time just standing here! :3  
DAVESPRITE: yeah i guess im not  
DAVESPRITE: sounds like a plan  
DAVESPRITE: lead the way  
JASPERSPRITE: Ok! Meow.

He pulls you down the corridor, thankfully opting for some place other than the living room couch. You’ve roamed the ship your fair share since setting off on the trip, but you haven’t been able to make much sense of the structure the golden halls and corridors theoretically form yet. They all look basically the same to you; it doesn’t help that half the rooms are identically empty boxes.

JASPERSPRITE: Purrr do you smell that?  
JASPERSPRITE: Johns nanna is baking some cookies! They must be almost ready!  
JASPERSPRITE: Theyre always so yummy lets go try a sample. :3

Your sense of smell was never exactly outstanding, and prototyping with a bird probably didn’t help that matter, so you hadn’t noticed. Now that you pay attention, though… you can’t disagree that you’re curious. Not that you have anything better to do, anyway. You follow Jaspersprite past a few more samey rooms and turns, just keeping up as he abruptly zooms through a darker frame.

There’s a sign overhead labelled “kitchen”, and as you swoop in yourself, you see the only other indication of the room’s use is the cookies. They’re stacked everywhere, obscuring virtually every surface, save for the open oven. Nannasprite is just putting what must be her hundredth tray in; she closes it, turns toward the two of you, and smiles.

NANNASPRITE: Hello, dears!  
JASPERSPRITE: Hi nanna! Can we try your tasty tasty cookies? :3  
NANNASPRITE: Of course! I did make plenty to share around! Hoo hoo hoo.  
DAVESPRITE: hi hi  
DAVESPRITE: thanks  
NANNASPRITE: Naturally! Dig in!

You pick out a cookie from the base of a nearby counter’s pile. Like any of the delicacies that John’s ecto-mom bakes, it’s got a bit of a blue glow to it. Some of the real powdered sugar coating grabs onto your neon fingers, quickly melting; the cookie is firm, though. You chomp into the little ball—and get literally knocked back from how much _spice_ is in it. Your bro never made you any kind of treats, so you don’t have the words to describe the sensation, but if you did, you’d say it’s like biting into a cookie packed with all the spice a regular family ought to use in a holiday season. You chew, swallow, and regain your footing. Actually, it might make up for all the spice you never got to experience during your entire preteen-hood.

DAVESPRITE: nanna god  
DAVESPRITE: whatd you put in this  
DAVESPRITE: its so much  
NANNASPRITE: Hoo hoo hoo!  
NANNASPRITE: Yes, it packs quite the punch. :B  
NANNASPRITE: The recipe does call for the same spices, if in lesser quantity, though!  
NANNASPRITE: An old friend in Germany send me it, you know. They certainly like their treats flavorful! Hoo hoo hoo.  
DAVESPRITE: no kidding omg

Beside you, Jaspersprite devours his third helping in a single bite. You know you’re imagining it, but you could swear there’s a voice inside you insisting you cannot let yourself be outmatched by, out of all the potential foes, a cat. It’s pointless—you simply cannot hope to beat your sister’s undead cat in a cookie-off—but you finish the rest of your own cookie in one go. This time, you’re prepared for the kick. You decide you quite like the flavor, anyway.

NANNASPRITE: So! What brings you two here?  
NANNASPRITE: I don't doubt my baking is reason enough on its own, but I've a feeling there might be something more!  
NANNASPRITE: Hoo hoo hoo.  
JASPERSPRITE: Meow yes! We really like your cookies but yes i thought dave might want to talk to you about something. :3  
DAVESPRITE: geez way to put me on the spot  
DAVESPRITE: why do you two get magic senses like that anyway  
DAVESPRITE: i know i dont and im literally the knight of time cmon  
NANNASPRITE: Chalk it up to being grown-ups! :B  
NANNASPRITE: But yes, I thought perhaps so. What's the matter, dear?

You pause for a moment, unsure what to say. Mostly, you don’t know what you want to hear. It’d be so much easier to drop it, to grab another cookie and stave off telling anyone for at least another few moments what you’ve been dealing with, but they’re listening to you now. You probably couldn’t ask for a better opportunity—you have no idea what Nannasprite will think about any of this, but you certainly can’t imagine talking about it to either of your temporally younger friends on the ship. And that’s not even to mention the present mess you’ve thrown at Jade.

DAVESPRITE: well  
DAVESPRITE: im feeling kind of  
DAVESPRITE: not real  
NANNASPRITE: Oh?

You suddenly realize you have no idea how to word your emotions and troubles with any kind of well-warranted finesse at all. When have you ever talked about them before? Wording’s never been your strong suit. Wait, scratch that. Maybe going off on a rap about your life would make it less impossible. Were that not entirely inappropriate right now.

DAVESPRITE: uh yeah like  
DAVESPRITE: ok hold on can i start over  
NANNASPRITE: Certainly! Feel free to.  
JASPERSPRITE: Meow! :3  
DAVESPRITE: alright thanks  
DAVESPRITE: i got into this argument with jade  
DAVESPRITE: i guess i was curious about her thoughts about the sprite she made from her dream self  
DAVESPRITE: but i dont know what i was expecting and she got really upset  
DAVESPRITE: probably rightfully  
DAVESPRITE: and said some stuff that i guess hurt me more than she meant  
NANNASPRITE: Oh, I see...  
NANNASPRITE: Those sorts of arguments are very misfortunate, indeed.  
NANNASPRITE: Would you like to talk about anything she said in particular?  
JASPERSPRITE: We really like listening to you you know! :3  
DAVESPRITE: yo thanks jaspers youre awesome  
DAVESPRITE: i guess so  
DAVESPRITE: i think what stung most was  
DAVESPRITE: she told me she regretted making jadesprite exist and having to see her  
DAVESPRITE: and she wouldnt have done that if shed known what to expect

You sigh, more shakily than you expect to. The other two are watching you intently, not saying anything yet; Jaspersprite pats you with one of his tentacle arms gently.

DAVESPRITE: and  
DAVESPRITE: i guess i felt like  
DAVESPRITE: since she was really quick to just despise the existence of someone like that  
DAVESPRITE: and nobodys really wanted to be around me  
DAVESPRITE: i thought  
DAVESPRITE: if the timelines didnt make it necessary  
DAVESPRITE: maybe youd all be better off if i never existed either  
NANNASPRITE: Oh, Davesprite...

Tears? What are those? You’re not sure you’ve ever cried over anything before. _Maybe_ when you read John’s letter, after putting on those real-deal Stiller glasses. _Technically_ when those consorts prepared Strider-oignon soup out of you. But crying at yourself? For your own problems? Never. You aren’t about to break that streak. You’ve gotten your words out; you’ve earned it when you grab the smallest nearby spice-cookie and stuff the whole thing into your mouth.

As the flavor stings, you scrunch your eyes, wet from the tears that are actually there now. The cookie didn’t help.


	3. Jade: Abscond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witty and extremely surprising cliffhanger disclaimer.

Your name is Jade Harley. You are presently slumped halfway down the living room couch, utterly drained but _frustrated_. Your eyes dart all over, but there’s nothing for them to latch onto. Normally, the tiled floor, noisey ceiling, furniture alignments, and dancing fireplace all serve as fine things to just stare at, appreciating and subconsciously calculating, peacefully sorting shapes out into abstractions and patterns while you listen to conversation or process your own thoughts. But right now, nothing you look at is offering any sort of calm. It’s all chaos, and you know it’s asking to be solved, but you do _not_ have the energy or mind-space for that right now. You settle on shutting your eyes, blocking out all the stupid sensations you know don’t hold any significance, and let yourself slip down the couch another inch or two.

The darkness doesn’t help you make any sense of your thoughts, though, which are taking the shape of a tornado swirling around the particular questions: why are you frustrated, and who is it right for you to direct it at? _Davesprite_ , you jump to, because he came in blathering about something he knew you couldn’t stand thinking about, and because he would _not_ drop the subject no matter how many opportunities you shoved right in his face. The only way you could get him away was to shout, fucking _scare_ him away with your plain answer, and you hate that he made it come to that, that that was the only solution.

But, another gust your mind flings at you, _couldn’t_ you have found another solution? He was clearly hurt, stung by everything you said. _You_ could have dropped the topic yourself, told him you didn’t want to talk about it. If he continued afterwords, well, fuck him, you’d abscond elsewhere, or maybe shrink _him_ down to a speck just to make a point. But you didn’t tell him explicitly. For each of those opportunities, you assumed he would take the chance to leave, but was he ever even capable of that? He must not have picked up your clues, couldn’t have considered _considering_ your own feelings. Which, well, fuck that too, but you know him and you know he wouldn’t ignore your thoughts intentionally. It’d hardly be his own fault. If you’d just taken any moment to scrap the topic yourself, you could’ve prevented all of this.

And then there’s Jadesprite. You swear just thinking her name gets you riled, but you try to temper that. Right now, it won’t help. But honestly, when _does_ it help? You told Davesprite you’d be happier if she’d never existed, and you can’t deny that, considering she hasn’t been anything but a sharp thorn in your brain-space. But she was also the key to your god-tiering, and all the changes that came with it, which you seriously do appreciate. It’s just that tying those to _her_ makes things you feel sour, tainted, like you’re only any better off than you were thanks to someone who you wish you could forget—but what good is there in feeling that? You’re jealous and resentful of somebody who’s _dead_ , for goodness’ sake. Those emotions have never helped you before, and directing them toward someone long gone is not going to make things any better for you. If you’re ever going to be at peace with yourself, you’ve got to drop everything you feel against her. There’s no space for you to hate someone who is a part of you.

You realize you’ve slid onto the floor; you don’t remember when that happened. You decide to just stay there for a few moments more. You haven’t got anything better to do, and your thoughts haven’t lost their grip quite yet. You’ve still got your eyes shut tight, but you hear a bright voice—Jaspersprite?—from the exit Davesprite took earlier. Of course it’s Jaspers, you think, coming to cheer him up. The one and only tentacle therapist, indeed. And of course there isn’t anybody coming to help you. Well, _fine_ , universe, if that’s the way things are going to be, you’ll figure out your mind _on your own_. Exactly as usual. You sigh, knowing there’s no one around to hear it.

And why isn’t there anyone? It’s a rhetorical question. What you’re really asking yourself is, why _should_ there be anyone? You pushed Davesprite away. You were shouting to get him to quit talking about Jadesprite, but you were channeling your actual feelings about her into that. And as he left, you knew you’d said something that hurt him. Everything, probably. Is it a surprise that your hatred of Jadesprite, your impatience with Davesprite, the fact that you violently threw all your emotion at him, did not help any matter at all? Of course it’s not. You don’t know why you did that, why you let yourself, why you didn’t search for or take any other solution, why you let someone hear your negative thoughts. That none of it helped is not surprising in the least.

You sit in silence a moment longer.

Actually, you think as you lift yourself off the floor, standing now, screw the tornado. You know what else isn’t helping? Paying attention to it. You didn’t help by shoving your feelings into other people’s faces, and you’re not helping by stewing in them yourself. Seriously, just _sitting_ here? That is the epitome, the dictionary example of doing nothing. You open your eyes and squint, taking in the bright environment, but it passes quickly and you are up, standing, ready to _do_ something. Jade Harley does _not_ stew in her emotions.

Right, so, what are you going to do now? For what certainly isn’t the first time, you realize that you are on a three-year ship and there really isn’t that much _to_ do here. You look around the room, at the desks and shelves and the mantel space above the fireplace. Everything’s already arranged into various patterns and orders, courtesy of you in the days before. You aren’t obsessive about organizing or anything, but putting together intentional patterns is a fun hobby, and you like to think the others on the ship enjoy recognizing the little arrangements every once in a while.

You consider the other rooms; it’s a large vessel and you’ve gotten to putting your touches on only a few rooms so far. You might have a look at the kitchen next—John’s one, you mean. You swear there are at least three clones of every useful room in this mansion of a ship. The thought makes you recognize how…empty, you feel. Ha ha, what? You mean that as in _hungry_. Since that was the direction you were going to head in anyway, you may as well find something to eat. Yes, this ship has snausages in ample supply. Yes, that’s because you alchemized them yourself. Off you go!

You always had the ability to fly in your dreams, but ever since you’ve god-tiered, you’ve been able to do so anywhere. Of course, you haven’t had the much opportunity to fly anywhere besides on this ship, but it’s enjoyable just the same. You speed down the maze of turns, parallel to and just a foot off the floor, wind brushing through your hair; the Prospitan vessel comes from the same planet you spent so much time on, growing up. Everything was so simple when you were exploring Prospit, visiting carapacians or attentively watching Skaia’s clouds pass by. You suppose there’s a certain sense of unity to spending the next three years on a smaller facet of your dream self’s world. Jadesprite… but as you slow down, having just reached your brother’s favorite kitchen, any thoughts of that self’s reincarnation are dispelled. You are focused, you see, on snausages.

You glance around the room quickly, flipping yourself upright to stand. John’s kitchen is already fairly tidy; save for the frying pan he used to make this morning’s scrambled egg breakfast, and some stray ingredients, the various surfaces are well organized. His kitchen certainly doesn’t need any major rearrangement. Sometimes you wonder if your layout overhauls are more trouble than help for the people who actually make use of the rooms, so you’ve toned down to just putting together patterns for the most part. You do recognize a few spots you could tweak accordingly, though—those spice shakers could be sorted by height into an arc, and you haven’t checked inside any of the cupboards or drawers yet.

On that thought, you crouch down next to a specific corner cupboard, conspicuously labeled with a sticker of a dog head-silhouette. _This_ is the compartment you’re looking for. Admittedly, one of several throughout the ship, but this is the one that’s right here. Inside: your personal stash of snausages. Not that you wouldn’t be happy to share, but nobody has taken up your offers. They’re organized into plastic containers of various different volumes; you pull out a medium-size one, ordinarily enough to last an hour or three, quietly lift off the lid, and dig in.

You’ve gotten just halfway through the mega-portion meal when a familiar voice speaks from what couldn’t be more than a foot behind your shoulder.

JOHN: jaaade?

You bolt up, abruptly broken from your canine-indulgent trance, gulp down a halfway chewed handful-worth, and drop the container, scattering the remaining bites all across the corner. It’s John—of _course_ you should’ve expected him to come in at some point. Oops. He jumps back a step or two, startled.

JADE: ack ha ha  
JADE: hiiii john!!!!!!!

John just stares at you, his face contorted into something serious yet utterly confused, and a bit skeptical. He blinks a few times… then drops the expression and bursts out laughing.

JOHN: pfff heh heh.  
JOHN: enjoying your snack, i take it?  
JADE: y-yeah!! you got it!!!  
JOHN: heh, ok.  
JOHN: so what are you up to? i don't think i've ever seen you wolfing (heh) this many snausages at once before!  
JOHN: or have you been doing that all along, when i'm not around?  
JADE: noo!! i havent been! serious!

You decided you were disregarding that negative emotion whirlwind earlier, and you’re sticking to that, but you’ve been caught with your mouth stuffed. You don’t exactly have an explanation made in planning for that.

JADE: im just umm  
JADE: i got really hungry!! thats all!  
JOHN: suuuure. i totally believe you! wink.

He doesn’t actually wink.

JOHN: you know, i could probably try cooking these.  
JOHN: i'm just an ordinary only human so we can probably blame my unappreciative tastes on that, but...  
JOHN: they seem a bit boring just like this!

You’re relieved that he’s dropped the inquiry. But—actually preparing snausages? You’ve never considered that before.

JADE: i guess so! i like them like this but you could probably cook them, yeah!  
JOHN: just imagine...  
JOHN: snausage salad!

John smiles, oblivious of your own turmoils. Just as he ought to be.

JOHN: i bet you'd really like it.  
JOHN: ...  
JOHN: soooooooo...  
JOHN: heh.

He spins around, bounces to the nearby sink, and starts pouring water in. You honestly only now recognize it’s half full of dishes.

JOHN: i'm going to get to work on washing these up.  
JOHN: i take it i can count on you to tidy up these?  
JADE: oh! of course!

As he searches for a wash cloth from one of the drawers, you collect the snausages off the ground and back into the container. You’ve really had enough for now, so you seal it up and return it to the cupboard. John gives you a curious glance as you shut the corner door, but doesn’t comment.

You just stand there for a moment, directionless, watching your brother scrub and rack the dishes one by one. When you notice there’s nearly no room left in the dish rack, you interrupt.

JADE: hey...  
JADE: could i dry these dishes, help get them put away?

John turns toward you, face bright as ever.

JOHN: oh! sure, go ahead!  
JOHN: here, there's a towel by the stove there. you know where the dishes go, right?  
JADE: ummm no but ill look!!  
JOHN: okay! just in the cupboards up here, yeah.  
JOHN: thanks!

You check each of the ceiling-attached cupboards, mapping out where each type of dish belongs, grab the towel, and start drying. You stack the variously colored plastic cups, line up mugs upside-down, arrange the plates rotated a quarter way around on every layer; although you haven’t got all that much practice, you clear the rack with decent pace and keep up as John continues filling it.

There are only a few dishes and utensils left at the bottom of the sink when John speaks.

JOHN: hey jade...

You set the frying pan from breakfast, now clean, down into the ground cupboard that holds a miscellany of heavier cooking vessels, then rise. John’s wearing an expression more serious than you’d expect from him. Not that it’s _that_ serious; it’s just… neutral. Inquisitive.

JOHN: um, i may be totally miss interpreting you, but.  
JOHN: are you ok?

You were worried he might ask so. Or were you hopeful for that?—No, you were worried. You look away, down at the rack. It’s empty; no remaining dish to keep a hold of. You scrunch the side of your dress in a fist as you answer.

JADE: uhhhh  
JADE: yeah?  
JADE: im fine  
JOHN: alright...

Wait. You knew John would interpret it like that. Shrug it off, worry not. Exactly as you meant for him to, but… it’s _wrong_ , it _feels_ wrong. You’d done a decent job of ignoring the emotions in your head while helping him, you think, but now they’re swelling back up. The frustration and confusion is clawing at you, and you hate suppressing it, and in this moment you feel doing so simply is not _right_. It’s visceral, shouting to be shared, to be let out.

You unclench your hand.

JADE: um  
JADE: actually i  
JADE: im not sure i am.


End file.
